


Dwale

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (kinda), Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, SUPER VAMPIRES THO - THEY HOT DADS, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Think of it as a foil on A.L.I.E's chip but now with vampires and everyone is not amused, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Vampirism as a virus basicially, au!Lincoln lives, au!Sinclair lives, fangy bits and bobs, slight dub-con leanings, tumblr prompt fill, vampires but not vampires - I swear that makes sense - ..I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can someone just say it?” Jasper blurted, rubbing his shorn head excitedly. Baring his teeth like fangs and crossing his arms over his chest like he was Nosferatu rising from his coffin in the old black and white movie. “Vampires! Like full on I ‘vant to suck your blo-”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The 100. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: a tumblr anon asked for Kabby: “bite” – My brain went on an epic journey with this one and I was emotional about Sinclair at the time the idea struck so that’s probably the reason more than half of this fic exists, hope you like anyway, anon! – Set Season Three, post Pike (au!Lincoln lives) but without any Allie nonsense – (therefore au!Sinclair lives). Keep in mind that I used this virus as a sort of foil/comparison component to the Allie/chipped!part of season three. 
> 
> Warnings: vampire!Marcus (kind of), vampire!Sinclair (kind of), vampires but not vampires- so think like, the fangs part but really just wanna spread the disease everywhere kind of vampires, dub-con like leanings but nothing major – mentioning mostly just to cover my butt here, mild sexual content, adult language.

“Are we sure this is going to work?” Bellamy asked again, skeptical and with good reason as they clustered around the monitors. Watching the feeds for any sign of Sinclair or Marcus as she sat ram-rod straight in her seat. Bleeding stress through the clench of her finger nails as the orange plastic warped under her palms – sweating.

“Are we sure this is what they have? This…disease?” he continued, looking at Clarke expectantly, but finding nothing but a shrug and her daughter’s usual calm expression.  “Because honestly, I have to tell you that even for the Ground, this all seems a bit far-”

“Can someone just say it?” Jasper blurted, rubbing his shorn head excitedly. Baring his teeth like fangs and crossing his arms over his chest like he was Nosferatu rising from his coffin in the old black and white movie. “Vampires! Like full on I ‘vant to suck your blo-”

“Jasper, we’ve been over this,” Jackson replied patiently, but with the crinkles around his eyes looking decidedly strained at this point. “It’s a blood born pathogen that alters your DNA so that-”

The radio clicked, heralding a transmission from Octavia, Lincoln and Indra. Clearly listening in as they rode back to Arcadia on horseback. Keeping track of Sinclair’s movements as he sped far ahead of them. Moving faster than any human – any horse – was ever meant to.

“Indra’s scouts confirmed that one of the women from their village who was with Kane and Sinclair already attempted to return to her family to turn them,” Octavia said, connection cutting in and out as the sound of galloping hooves turned almost deafening. Making her picture Octavia ducking close to her mount’s neck to avoid something – maybe a branch. “We’re still about three miles out, he’s going to beat us there, so be ready.”

She grabbed the receiver from Clarke’s hand, blind to the raised brow the action earned her as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Willing her voice to steady as the temptation to give in and just collapse against the desk grew harder and harder to ignore. She hadn’t slept since they’d lost contact with the survey party. She’d been on the radio with Marcus when it’d happened. One moment they’d been discussing the site’s potential for future expansion and the next- a hair-raising scream issued from outside his tent. Warbling and animal-wild as Marcus whispered something unintelligible, the snaps of his thigh holster echoing before the transmission cut off. She tried to reach him a hundred times, but it wasn’t until Indra sent a group of warriors to find out what happened, that they found the wreckage. All five of their guards were dead, drained at the neck, along with two of Indra’s people who’d been acting as guides. Sinclair, Marcus and over half a dozen Grounders were still missing.

“Is there any sign of Marcus?”

There was a pause, static spitting across the line before-

“No. Not yet,” Octavia answered, strain entering the last syllable. Expelling a gust of air and a quiet _oof_ that crackled across the line, making the others wince at the pitch. “We had scouts were in the trees when Sinclair crossed back into Trikru territory.”

She nodded, keeping it together. _Compartmentalizing._ Telling herself it was a good thing that Sinclair was heading home. It meant that Marcus was probably on his way as well. They’d been together when it’d happened. They hadn’t seen any sign of them at the survey camp. So if the Grounders that’d been with them were starting to return home, that meant there was no reason why Marcus wasn’t going to do the same.

“How does he look?” she asked, exchanging looks with Jackson and Clarke as the microbe responsible for this whole mess spun slowly across the screen of Jackson’s data pad.

“Honestly? You’re going to have to see it to believe it. Tell Raven she’s going to have her work cut out for her when he gets here.”

* * *

As it turned out, Sinclair _didn’t_ beat them there.

They arrived with foaming horses and dirt-streaked faces, weapons drawn. But the feeds showed nothing. By their estimates he should have been there an hour ago. The disparity had everyone on edge, but Indra and Lincoln were unconcerned. Confident that all would go according to plan. Remarking that since Sinclair was a man of great intellect, despite the pull of his new instincts, it was likely he was circling the boundary wall. Keeping just out of sight of the cameras and trying to formulate a strategy.

Raven had just laughed over the radio when they’d told her. Urging her to stay where she was – _bait_ – until he finally made an appearance. Her sarcasm thick – thick enough to almost drown out the worry – when she asked them if they honestly expected anything less.

For her part, she took the opportunity to grill the two of them for information up close. Unable to shake the feeling that despite analyzing the microbe and increasing the effectiveness of the cure Indra’s people had provided them with, this entire thing still had them flying blind.

“So, we know the virus drives you not only to feed on fresh blood but to spread the disease to other hosts,” she started, pacing. Opening with what they knew as Indra nodded. Looking up from inspecting her sword as Lincoln and Octavia spoke in low voices with Clarke and Bellamy in the far corner.

“That is the primary side-effect of the virus, the need to replicate itself. It isn’t unusual, most viruses have that component in some shape or form, but it’s the targeted method that is unique here. I don’t see evidence for why those who are infected are so selective in who they turn. If anything it should be random, _rabid_. There can’t be any evolutionary advantage this way,” she set out, struggling with it. Trying to make sense of something the Grounders accepted as an element of the supernatural. Not as a virus that should have the same basic structure as every other virus out there.

Jackson sent her a commiserating look, just as stumped as she was.

“The curse changes you. Your strength, speed, senses, they are all heightened. And there is a wildness in your blood, like they have the power of the Earth in their veins,” Indra shared, eyes distant.

“I have seen this before. When I was a girl, our healer was infected by her eldest son. Our warriors were able to tie her down with thick ropes and rocks as weights, keeping her arms pinned at her sides, immobilized under soft blankets before she turned. By the time the healer from the next village arrived to treat her, she was almost free of her bindings. Tearing them with brute strength of the like I have never seen. She was no warrior. A woman that believed in gentleness and peace. Who never once raised her hand against another. Yet she became something else – savage and powerful. Capable of terrible things, terrible acts.”

Jasper fidgeted, pointedly. Knee jiggling. Mouth opening to say something before Jackson cut in swiftly from his seat at the center console.

“There has to be a better way to administer the cure,” he remarked, puzzled. “If not now but for any future cases. If there was ever a widespread outbreak, given the cramped conditions in camp, logistically this wouldn’t work.”

 “My people have tried many different methods over the years. Our darts containing the cure did nothing – they could be removed from the skin too quickly. It must be face to face. Close range. Your injection darts would be the same,” Indra answered bluntly.

 “If we had more time we could synthesize it and make it airborne,” she suggested, fingers itching to be useful rather than all this hurry up and waiting they were doing. The only problem was the best person for that job was currently infected himself.

  _Sinclair._

 “You would still need to involve the people they most value,” Indra negated as she shook her head, sheathing her sword as Lincoln and Octavia came to stand beside her. “Otherwise what need do the cursed have to walk deliberately into a trap? Even now, your Sinclair is aware that he is being hunted. He is a predator now. He understands. But he will come because there is someone within these walls he values more than his own life.”

This time it was Lincoln that nodded, inclining his head respectfully before he spoke.

“The cure _must_ be injected by that person. The one they love,” he replied evenly, tone endearing and steady-calm as he gestured towards the monitor that showed a live feed of Raven’s quarters. “That person is the only one who can hold their attention. When they give them the cure, there will be conflict. Despite their instincts – unlike with others - the infected will not risk lashing out and accidentally attacking that person. That was why our darts rarely work by themselves. If it isn’t close range and done by the person they love they can pull the dart free before they get the full dose. When Sinclair returns, Raven must be ready to do what she must to ensure he receives all of it.”

Origin points, patient zero and the laugh-like creases that texturized the corners of Marcus’ eyes these days was almost deafening as they rebounded through her aching skull. Squeezing her eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again. Forcing herself to focus.

“But how did this start? When?”

“There are stories among our people, legends,” Indra supplied. “Jus takers – blood takers. No one knows how they came into being. Only that it has been many years since one has crossed onto our lands. We will be doubling our patrols, I have warriors hunting the jus takers that attacked the survey mission as we speak.”

“We have them too. They were entertainment, myth and superstition,” Clarke broke in, frowning. “But there was no evidence they ever really existed.”

 Jasper clicked his tongue in disagreement, sidling in from the wings.

“That’s not completely true. Okay, so- hear me out. In ancient Ireland there were these graves, right? They found a cemetery on some old dude’s property, unmarked. So old the markers were gone. And inside a bunch were these bodies where someone had stuffed big rocks into their mouths. They’d twisted their legs around bigger rocks so that that couldn’t get out of their graves. Some were even staked through the heart or their heart was gone completely,” he babbled, shifting from foot to foot as Lincoln and Indra actually looked interested. Completely missing Bellamy’s sigh as he shook his head and turned back to the monitors.

“Archaeologists speculated that the reason the graves were desiccated was because the people believed that these poor bastards were vampires and would rise out of their graves and everything! It was even written down, _officially_. It started this vampire craze across Europe where people would put iron bars around their coffins and even go and visit places – rich people tourism, I guess – where the legends of the vampire first came from. Some old castle in-”

“At that time didn’t people still believe in magic and witchcraft?” Bellamy retorted wryly, glancing up at Clarke and then at her in turn as she kept her expression flat. Clarke however, just smiled. Indulgent.

“Dude, buzzkill much?!” Jasper retorted, dangerously close to a pout until Octavia leaned over and gave him a friendly nudge. Nearly sending him flailing over the chair he was leaning on before he fixed Bellamy with a baleful look. “I’m just sayin’, what if?”

“But why their loved ones?” she asked again, stuck on it. Feeling like she was finding a dozen different ways of repeating the same question as Indra turned her attention back to their conversation.

“It is not known. Not for certain. Those who have been cured have described this need in many different ways. To their fevered minds passing on this…sickness was an act of great love. One they would risk any danger, any trap. Feeling an all-consuming need to be together and to share the source of their power. Some of our fiercest warriors called it a protection. Giving their lover, their child, their family and friends the bite assured them of their safety,” Indra explained, looking thoughtful as Lincoln wrapped his arm around Octavia. The mood of the room growing dark and sober.

“Despite the constant need to feed, they have no desire to drink of them. The ones they choose to give the bite are considered equals. Do you understand? This sickness is _driven_ by love. That is why it is so dangerous. Think about it. What would we not do to keep those we treasure, safe?”

The pause was stilted.

Awkward.

_Stifling._

Bellamy was the one that broke it, managing to avoid everyone’s eyes as he leaned over the console and pressed a couple buttons. Shoulders hunching as everyone turned to look. Grateful for the distraction.

“You must be bored as hell. How’re you doing, Raven?”

They switched to her feed on the main monitor, making sure the connection was still good. They’d kept an open com so Raven could keep track of everything going on as it happened. Just as stuck as the rest of them as the monitor showed her propped up in bed, reading. Good leg wavering back and forth as she sighed in obvious boredom.

“I’ll be better when this is over,” Raven answered, looking over at the camera they’d hidden in the air intake vent by the door. Wriggling her fingers in a half-hearted wave. “Any sign of him?”

“None,” Clarke responded, quick on the mark as her eyes flickered over to the other consoles. Just to make sure. “But he’s out there.”

Raven sighed, tossing her book away.

“Look, I know we have more pressing problems here. But guys- how do we know he’s coming here? For me, I mean? There has to be someone else that-”

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat. Shaking her head as she shared a private smile with the curl of her chin as Raven continued along the same vein. Not quite ready to face the love there – unconditional and clean – despite it being present beside her every single day.

When the man had been spotted by Indra’s scouts, racing barefoot and wild through the forest, there’d been no doubt in her mind who Sinclair was coming for. And deep down, Raven knew it too. When Sinclair had gone missing, Raven had been halfway to one of the jeeps before a plan had even been made. Determined to go with the rescue party until Indra had filled them in on what happened and Raven had-

“There he is!” Jasper exclaimed, knocking over his chair and pointing at the console showing the outside feeds as the entire room erupted into chaos.


	2. Chapter 2

She drew in a breath when the shadowed form of Sinclair hunched onto the screen. Eyes glinting, animal-wild, as he loomed out of the tree line. Looking up at the exterior fence for a long moment before-  
  
“Jesus Christ! He just cleared the fence!” Jackson shouted, throwing himself back in his chair in surprise as Bellamy leaned closer. Watching as Sinclair landed cat-like and unruffled inside the walls. Rising up from his haunches, predator-slow and confident.

“How is that even possible?” Bellamy frowned, looking at her and Clarke again like they had the answers. “Sinclair designed that thing. That fence is at least-”

“Quiet!” Indra rasped, pointing at the screen where Sinclair was still standing, highlighted a striking olive-pale by the exterior lights. Looking like something out of a horror movie with his torn shirt ripped down to the naval. Colored by a thick expanse of dried blood that was smeared across his face and down his neck – like at one point his nose had been broken.

“There,” Lincoln murmured, pointing at a blur of pixels that stood out at the heart of Sinclair’s throat. “He has the infected’s mark.”

But she wasn’t looking at the damn mark.

_She was looking at Sinclair._

It was like watching a stranger in a friend's skin. The way he moved. The way he looked. Even the expression on his face. It was all wrong. So wrong that it put a lump in the center of her chest. Cloying and unavoidable every time she swallowed.

But it wasn’t until his head cocked. Listening to something they couldn’t before taking off in a haze of speed that kicked up the skeletons of last fall’s leaves. That she realized they were running out of time.

_It was up to them to help him now._

“Everyone stay calm, this is what we've been waiting for. We’re ready for this,” she told them, picking up strength and momentum as the other’s straightened. Nodding and getting into position as she grabbed the radio and let her eyes skim over to the live-feed showing Raven’s quarters.

“Raven, he's coming. Get ready,” she said urgently. Ignoring the way her nails were biting into the flesh of her palm as Jackson slowed down the last bit of footage and enlarged it. Allowing them to see the sharp of Sinclair’s fangs pressing against his lower lip. Hissing without sound as he stayed in the shadows of an overhang. Waiting for a squadron of guards to pass before hooking his nails – more like claws now, sharp and animal-black - into a gap in the wall and swinging himself up into the ceiling of the main hallway. Clinging spider-like and agile before disappearing into the mess of wires of tubes.

“Shit!” Jackson cursed, changing the angle of the footage. Trying to keep him in sight   
as Sinclair scuttled upside down across the ceiling. Blurring past, two- three- four- six cameras in quick succession before dropping down into a deserted hall. Right in front of-

_Raven._

They watched, all eyes glued to the screen, as Sinclair straightened. Looking down at himself for a brief moment – perhaps conscious of how he might appear - before digging a claw underneath the locking mechanism and _twisting_. Overriding the lock like he could see right through the wires and the panel and into the electrical currents and code underneath.

He stepped inside, door hushing shut behind him, blinking keenly into the half-dark. Eyes immediately finding Raven tossed carelessly across her unmade bed. Hair loose and trickle-trailing over her pillows, breathing deeply. If she didn’t know any better she would have been convinced. Completing the picture with a soft blanket pulled up around her shoulders, her book abandoned beside her like she’d fallen asleep reading.

He was at her side before she could blink. Pulse pounding in her ears as they watched him hesitate. Bloody hand outstretched like he was uncertain of his welcome, before ghosting through her hair. Smoothing the strands from her face like a parent would to a sleeping child. Reverent and careful.

And for the first time since he’d appeared on their cameras, she could finally see _Sinclair_ reflecting in those dark eyes. It was an action that was so human – _so him_ \- that it nearly broke her. Giving her hope as he sank down on his knees beside the bed, chest heaving.

“His daughter?” Indra asked, looking at her for confirmation as she set a string of vials on the counter in front of her. Checking the dart already loaded in her blow-gun, just in case.

“No,” she answered, suddenly wondering why she’d never asked. Sinclair and his wife had been together for longer than she could remember. They’d been best friends from diapers before turning into something more as they’d grown older. He’d lost her in the crash. He never talked about it. He never even said her name. It was like she’d been erased somehow. Maybe that was the way he’d coped – how he was dealing with it. But it still unnerved her, seeing him so alone. It wasn’t right and it certainly wasn’t fair. “He has no children.”

The woman made a dissenting noise.

“Not by blood perhaps,” Indra challenged, pointing at the screen as Sinclair’s fingers worried at the blanket edges. Twitching it minutely so that the blue cotton wasn’t caught on her leg brace. Never once taking his eyes from her face as Raven kept up the facade. Trusting they would step in if they had to. “But that love is there none the less.”

And she wasn’t wrong.

Raven had always been special to Sinclair. Just the same as Sinclair had always meant something more than merely a mentor to Raven. In an uncertain world, that kind of unconditional support was a rare thing. It was as fragile as the person’s bones that held it but as strong as the heart that kept it beating – _kept it alive._ They’d all lost so much, but if bonds like this could still exist and flourish in spite of it, well- wasn’t that something worth fighting for?

* * *

They all experienced a collective jerk of surprise when Sinclair carefully lifted Raven’s wrist to his lips. Fangs dropping from their sheath over-top his canines. Sharp, long and slick with saliva as his pupils expanded. Slitting dark and excited as the breath she was holding got caught in her throat like a choke-hold.

“He isn't going for the neck!” Bellamy hissed, fingers bloodless around the tranquilizer gun he was fisting.

“You said he’d go for the neck!” Octavia demanded, looking at Indra and Lincoln with a worried glance.

“Oh shit!” Jasper burbled, hands on his head as he turned a half-circle in growing panic.

_Come on Raven._

_Time to improvise._

_Come on-_

“Sinclair?”

She slumped in relief. Watching as Raven slowly stretched. Carefully pulling her arm away as she feigned waking up. Patting at the dappled-red of his arm before letting her hand fall away again. Blinking sleepily.

_She had to admit the girl was a good actor._

_Almost too good._

The fascinating thing was she could actually see his hesitation. The way he closed his mouth to hide his fangs, leaning back a fraction to give the illusion that he hadn’t been completely hovering over her. All those minute little details that often made all the difference before jumping to conclusions. It was almost like he didn’t want her to see it. Like he wanted to spare her somehow. Or protect her from himself. On some level, that part of him was still undeniably present.

“You alright, Sinclair? When did you get back? We've been worried.”

He paused like he was trying to remember the interaction. The proper response. Throat bobbing when Raven let go of a small, honest sounding gasp.

“You’re hurt,” she exclaimed, reaching out as the muscles under his skin twitched. Minute vibrations that followed her fingers as they traced down the smear of dried blood and the angry bite mark that was still visible through the tear in his shirt.

He shook his head. Balancing effortlessly on his haunches as the bottoms of his bare feet shone black. Flaking and dirty with tacky gore and pulverized undergrowth.

“No. It’s alright,” he murmured, voice strained rough and hoarse but with a silky edge she’d never heard from him before. Alluring and mysterious. “We were attacked, but we’re better now- _more_.”

“Is Kane with you? The others?! They said some of the Guards and the Grounders you were with were killed. How did you get out of there? How are you here?! Did you check in with Doctor Griffin?”

“No. He was- hungry,” Sinclair answered, lingering over the last word before uttering it with an expressionless lisp. Bloody fingers clenching around the frame of Raven’s bed until the metal groaned a negative. Making him release it quickly – shamefully – as Raven looked down, wary. “I was- I was sleeping when it happened. Something ripped into my tent and dragged me into the trees. I don’t know- I couldn’t fight it- but I woke up like this and now I’m here. I came back on my own, Raven. _I had to_.”

The part of her that’d been holding onto hope. The part that still believed in the possibility that Marcus would walk through the front gate exactly how he’d left, withered and died in her breast. Leaving her with more questions than answers as they stared at Sinclair’s blood-streaked clothes, wondering.

“I wanted to be here- for you, I mean…” he started, trailing off as he reached down and captured her hand. Covering it over with his much larger one as Raven visibly trembled.

“Raven… I can protect you now, keep you safe. When we were attacked something happened. I thought I was dying, that my blood was on fire. But everything is clear now. Simple. I feel- and I can fix _this_ now,” he continued, earnest despite the trembling bob of his throat - yearning and hungry like misplaced desire as he rested his free hand on her injured leg. Elongated nails gentle-sharp against her brace, like a passive threat he wasn’t even aware of as Raven’s eyes threatened the absolute last emotion they needed right now.

  _Anger._

 Anger at the thing that had done this to him.

 Anger at what it was making Sinclair do.

 Anger at what it had already made him do.

 Anger at what it might make Sinclair regret when all this was said and done.

Anger that whatever this virus was had kept just enough of him present to make her hurt.

“I won't let anything bad happen to you again,” he said quietly, so achingly serious that she didn’t know what to do with herself when he raised his hand to her face. Cupping Raven’s chin as he smoothed his thumb over the dip, smiling gently. “I promise.”

It felt like a breach of privacy as they watched her lean into it. Accepting the gesture, perhaps even for what it was, as she looked up at him. Nodding like she understood. Like she _believed_ it as the tension in his muscles relaxed a careful half-fraction.

“I know,” she murmured, face struggling through a gamut of different emotions before settling on hopeful determination. Using the emotion he’d already provided to scoot closer to the edge of mattress and pull him in for an awkward hug. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

The cameras placed on either side of the room gave them a double view of both Sinclair and Raven’s face as they relaxed into it. Showing them how Sinclair inhaled. Scenting along the crux of her neck before closing his eyes. Leaning into the closeness like the pressure of her skin against his was a pleasure in of itself. While on the opposite side, Raven closed her eyes as well. Letting her right hand dip low down his back, straightening her sleeve as the syringe she’d hidden inside slipped down to nestle in the cup of her palm.

After that, everything happened fast.

Meaning that before anyone could say a word, two things happened in quick succession.

First, Sinclair lifted his head. Seeming to look directly at the camera as his lips parted and his fangs shivered down from their sheaths. Turning his expression calculated and animal as his pupils expanded – pitch black and eerie – before he lowered his lips back into the crux of her, ready to strike. And second, just before his fangs could make contact with her skin, Raven jammed the syringe through the side of Sinclair’s neck and released the cure into his bloodstream.

He jerked. Making a cut off sound. Animal and wounded as he tried to fling himself away. Scrabbling backwards while Raven clung to him. Keeping his hands away from the syringe for a precious handful of moments as she jammed the rest of the plunger down before letting it fall. Getting crushed against the wall as Sinclair snarled and flailed, clawing at his neck with his free hand like he could somehow rip it out of him as they tumbled to the ground in an off-center heap.

“Sinclair!? Sinclair! Shhhh…it’s alright! I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re going to be alright, just-” Raven murmured, holding his head in her lap as he seized on the floor. Calling his name until the echoes grew mocking, chasing one another through the empty room like words unsaid. Unmarked and painfully one-sided, but desperately looked for all the same as Sinclair’s mouth worked. Hissing his defiance as the antibodies worked on a cellular level, lashing out but keeping her close all the same. Just like Indra had said.

But for some reason, despite the relief coursing through her, all she could really think about was the betrayal in the back of his eyes when he looked up at her from where they were splayed across the floor.

Sinclair was looking at Raven like he’d never seen it coming.

_Not from her._

_Never from her._

And honestly, she didn’t know if she could justify that kind of betrayal with Marcus. Not after all they’d been through. Even if it meant saving him from himself. She wasn’t built for that kind of look when it came to the people she loved. She didn’t know how anyone ever could be.

She rocked back on her heels as the others got over the radio. Shouting orders. Shuddering with it as she kept her eyes on the twitching form of Sinclair. Watching as twin rivulets of blood trickled from the corners of his lips. Painting the pale of his cheeks with fresh crimson as Jackson said something beside her – distantly-warped and easily ignored before he sprinted out of the room and down the hall.

Her eyes closed on their own accord as she slowly rose to her feet. Using the metal of the desk as a brace as her exhaustion evolved into a visceral, tangible thing. Turning her grip unsteady and trembling as she thought about what Sinclair had said.

_"I won't let anything bad happen to you again. I promise.”_

After everything they’d suffered, she was sick and tired of the taste of pain.

She hated how it felt on her skin.

How it wrung you out from the inside.

How it never took the right people first.

How it made you heel on a moment’s notice.

Like fate was forever jerking on your leash.

* * *

 

Wasn’t it funny then, that even though she knew about the infection, she still believed him?

_Didn’t that mean something?_


	3. Chapter 3

"Fight it, Sinclair! Fight it!"

By the time they got him on a gurney and into medical, Sinclair was jerking and straining against his restraints. Eyes wide and blank like he was a thousand miles away - staring at nothing. Red froth leaking from the corners of his mouth as Raven gripped his hand in hers. Refusing to let him go.

The horrible part was all they could do was watch. Watch as the shading of his veins turned a stark, inky-black. Highlighted like poison as every muscle in his body snapped tense. There was nothing they could do at this point other than wait and try to keep him stable. Everything else was up to him now.

"Come on, come back!" Raven pleaded, white as a sheet and horrified as he twitched and writhed. Free hand snapping up as much as the leather restraints would allow, straining against the buckles until Lincoln and Bellamy were forced to grab it and put all their weight into keeping Sinclair's hand flat against the mattress. Claws shredding through the fabric as he bared his teeth, feral and spitting. The muscles in his chest were sheened with sweat as Jackson cut away the remnants of his filthy shirt. Temperature sky-rocketing as the monitors beeped and flashed.

"Christ, Abby- look at this," Jackson muttered, hunching over a display of the man's vitals. Pointing at the read-outs as she blinked slowly, half-convinced she was seeing things before Jackson confirmed it. "He could have bent steel. He _let_ himself get caught. He could have tossed her like a rag doll and gotten free right after she injected him but he didn't."

"He can't," she replied quietly, eyes straying down to where Raven was still holding Sinclair's hand. A hand that still had the power to break every bone there if he chose to. But he didn't. As uncontrolled as the rest of him seemed to be, he returned her grip with the uttermost care. Sharp claws safely sunk into the meat of his own palms – just in case. Dripping red across the torn up mattress. "That's the point."

Indra nodded.

"It is like it was with our people," the woman affirmed, standing over the gurney hands on her hip before turning her gaze fully on Raven. "The drive to find you was stronger than his instinct to save himself."

"Perhaps he believed we would not be able to stop him once he was inside?" Lincoln suggested. Voice strained until Jasper and Clarke clustered around the gurney. Lending their strength in keeping Sinclair's free arm down as the restraints started creaking dangerously again.

"It would have worked though, if we didn't know? He would have-" Clarke pointed out, trailing off awkwardly when Raven raised an eyebrow at her. Daring her to continue.

 _Time and place, Clarke._ She thought silently.

"The regenerative properties alone," Jackson murmured, scrolling through the data they'd collected with clear enthusiasm. "If we would separate this from its core structure we could revolutionize the way we treat injuries. I mean, think about it. Look- none of this was on his scans from before he was infected. I'm seeing evidence of healing fractures on- well, all over the place. Whoever infected him beat him up pretty badly. I hate to say it, but he's very lucky."

"Lucky?" Raven demanded, looking for someone – something - to be upset about as Sinclair let go of an unhuman whine. Pained and animal-confused as he looked up at her like he trusted her to hang the moon. So focused on her she doubted he was aware there was anyone else in the room. To him nothing else mattered. And that was the point. "You call _this_ _lucky_?"

"Raven," she supplied quietly, turning the monitor as far as it would go so the girl could see. "They broke his arm, his left femur and fractured his spine in five places before they started feeding. Without the virus he would have died, or at least been paralyzed for the rest of his life."

The silence that followed was harsh and awkward. Salvageable only in the sense that for once, they weren't looking at the worst case scenario.

It was another close call.

Another almost funeral.

Another almost loss.

Another almost.

_God, she was so tired._

"Hear that, Sinclair? This is you being _lucky_ ," Raven told him, false bravado skittering through the decibels as she breathed unevenly. The tips of her hair ghosting across his cheek as she leaned down to whisper the rest. "Gotta say, I'd hate to see you on a bad day."

Sinclair just rumbled non-committedly.

Fussing angrily as he bared his fangs at an unsympathetic ceiling.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

It took hours, but eventually Sinclair's vitals started to blur back into the normal range. Lapsing in and out of consciousness as his struggles turned feeble and exhausted. The fangs in front his canines surprised them by dropped out of the gums completely. Spitting them up along with what looked like several pints of stomach-warmed blood they managed to catch in a basin just in time.

It was near the end of it – when Sinclair was limp, grey, but alive on the gurney - that Indra turned to her. Expression sober and stern as she took in the exhaustion that lined her face.

"It might be tomorrow, or the day after, or minutes from now, but Kane _will_ come for you," Indra told her. Showing no sign of fatigue at all as Raven slept sitting up in his chair beside Sinclair's bed, refusing to move. Jasper, Bellamy, Octavia and Lincoln were curled up on the floor and various cots around the room, breathing deeply. Sticking close and together, like always. "You must be ready."

"You're no use to him when you are not at your best," Jackson agreed, chair creaking as he looked up from the read outs. "I'll keep an eye on him. You haven't slept in almost forty-eight hours. Get some rest, Abby."

She opened her mouth to protest. It was instinctual at this point. _Her default mode._ She knew that. But still she wasn't sure why she kept up pretences when she knew they were right. Pride could only carry you as far as you could keep your eyes open, and she'd passed that point hours ago.

Her tongue felt thick in her mouth as Indra moved away. Muddling her way through the idea of sleep as the complexities of something that should have been simple tangled her thoughts into unmanageable chunks. Maybe it was because Sinclair wasn't out of the woods yet - pulse thready and sickly-pale against the cotton sheets. Maybe it was because she was harboring some strange, secret fear that if she closed her eyes, this part – the part where Sinclair was fine and the cure had worked – would all be a dream. That she'd have to face this all over again before there was any sign of Marcus. Or maybe, at the end of it, it was because Marcus wasn't here to talk her down like he usually was.

She jumped when Clarke touched her arm.

_When had she moved from the chair beside Bellamy?_

_God, what time was it?_

"It's alright, Mom," Clarke murmured, smiling small as she handed her the syringe – just like the one they'd given Raven at the start of all this. "We'll keep the com open and patched into your quarters. We'll wake you if there's any sign of him."

The syringe was heavy in her hand when she finally nodded.

_It was only a matter of time now._

_She needed to be ready._

_Marcus was counting on her._

* * *

Conscious of her audience she skipped her usual routines and brought her sleep clothes – soft shorts and a loose grey shirt - into the bathroom with her. She started the shower with clenched teeth, kicking her dirty clothes off to the side as the scent of old blood and half-digested acids threatened to turn her stomach. Shivering at the cold as she shifted from side to side, toes freezing against the chill metal floor.

Space had always been cold. Frigid, unforgiving and always only a half-dozen inches from killing you on any given day. But there was nothing like quite like unwarmed metal under your feet to remind you that you didn't know the first thing about it.

She stepped under the spray with clacking teeth. Not sure if she was overtired, cold or a mixture of both as she closed her eyes and let it beat down on her. Water pearling down the full of her breasts as her thoughts finally had the freedom to wander without censure.

She didn't miss space.

She didn't miss what it had done to them.

What they'd _let_ it do to them.

But truth be told, she _did_ miss something hotter than a barely lukewarm shower.

The thought got a small smile out of her when she considered pulling in a favor or two after all this was over. Get together with a couple of the others and convince Sinclair to move it up on the list of 'to dos."

_After all, what was the point of a little political clout if you couldn't use it for the greater good once in a while, huh?_

* * *

She wasn't consciously aware of having fallen asleep. But she figured she must have when she woke up to the sound of her door sliding closed.

_Closed._

Not open.

For a staggered half-second there was no fear. Just confusion. Wondering off-hand if the doors had malfunctioned or if Clarke had come to check on her as she blinked groggily from the crumpled-soft of her pillow.

But when the crouching outline of a shape loomed in the far corner, that was when reality hit. It froze her to her pillow, an ingrained panic response that whispered if she didn't move. If she didn't draw attention, then maybe-

She jerked- hiccupping into the near dark, breath rattling loud in her ears when she realized the shape was gone. She shifted on the mattress, sliding the syringe she'd brought in with her so that it was safely under her pillow. Keeping her fingers curled around it, ready.

"Marcus?" she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice as it wavered into the high notes. Heart pounding in her chest as she struggled with the realization that this was happening. Right here and right now.

_The others hadn't warned her._

_She couldn't have slept through that, could she?_

_Her radio was on._

_What-_

The shadows in the far corner of the room shifted. Highlighting the glint of his fangs through the low light filtering in through the vent that led to the hall.

"I'm here…" he rasped, face still hidden in the dark as the bare of his arms flashed briefly in the filtered light. "I've been waiting for you to wake up."

She smoothed her hair, sitting up on the mattress as her heels ghosted across the floor. A fraction of an inch too short to make contact as she swallowed hard. Thinking fast.

_Focus, Griffin._

_He needs you._

"Marcus? Oh god- are you alright? Let me see you," she urged, letting some of what she was feeling – what she had been feeling all this time – usher through as she tried to find his eyes in the dark.

The shadows blended, trailing in his wake as he took a step forward, then another. Doing as she asked as he advanced through the gloom. Bold and predatory. Moving with the same, confident assurance that Sinclair had until he was standing opposite her. Inches away now as he sank down on his haunches in front of her. Features thrown into sharp relief as she switched on the slow glow of her bedside light.

She held back her gasp, but only barely.

It was stupid, she knew.

Being caught off guard when you knew what to expect.

But she couldn't act like this was just another patient.

_Not with Marcus._

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to adapt as the syringe warmed underneath her hands. Just like with Sinclair, it was like looking at a stranger. Along with the sharp of his fangs and his bare blood-flecked chest, the change was all in his eyes. In the way he held himself.

The outside was more or less familiar, but what was inside?

It'd been altered, _warped_.

She drew in a shuddering breath.

"What happened?"

He smiled, shaking his head.

"You know what happened," he returned, mildly chastising, like he'd caught her in a lie. Balancing on his heels as his eyes roved over her greedily. Like he was memorizing every line. "I can smell him all over you. You've changed him."

She opened her mouth, unsteady under his unwavering focus.

"Sinclair? The _virus_ changed him. And you- let me help you, Marcus," she urged, leaning forward slightly as part of her – a very naive and foolish part – yearned to touch him. Feeling like if she could just pull him in, breathe him in, then everything would be alright.

He rose up from his crouch in a single, fluid motion. Moving faster than she could until he was inches away, chest heaving as he stood above her. A low growl rumbling deep and continuous in his throat as he reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist.

_No!_

The tendons in her hands flexed as she allowed her fingers to drift away from the syringe. Allowing him to raise her hand to his lips and brush the split-rough of them across her skin. Heart hammering between her ribs as her free hand crossed behind her, trying to reach around so she could grab-

"You don't understand," he curved lowly, making her stomach lurch when she realized the corners of his lips were stained red. Leaning down until her back hit the mattress. Pressing her flat against the sheets as his hand burrowed behind her. Claws glancing off the needle with an audible, soul-crushing _c-clink_. Pulling it free with a hard expression as she made a grab for it. "And you don't need this."

"Marcus, no! I'm trying to help you!"

He growled, bare skin fever hot through the thin of her t-shirt as he nuzzled into her hair. Tossing the syringe behind him with a crash as panic built high and choking in her throat.

"You don't need to do this," she pleaded, reaching up to cup his face as he kept her down. Trying to find him in his eyes. The Marcus _she_ knew. Not this dark, slated thing that had too many teeth and radiated so much predatory confidence that it made her feel small.

"Yes, I do," he hissed, eyes slitted as he smoothed her hair out of her face, inhaling deeply. Nose nudging against the shell of her ear as he whispered the rest. _Believing it._ "For us. Abby, I came back for you. We can be together."

"Let me help you," she negated, fingers curling around his bicep. Pleading with him as she met his gaze without filter. Needing him to see her – _really_ see her. Needing to get through to him – to buy herself some time. "Come with me, to the infirmary. I won't leave you, I promise. Let me?"

_Where the hell were the others?_

_They should have been here by now._

She could see her reflection in his enlarged pupils. And for a fraction of a second, she swore she had him. She could almost see, it- indecision. Second guessing. The way Marcus always thought everything through a dozen times before committing to anything.

The moment stretched, allowing her to hope that maybe-

He shook his head. Fangs dropping as he tipped her chin with the blunt of a black-tinted claw. Opening up the pale of her throat as his breath hazed warm. Prickling the tiny hairs as a tangle of words, desperate and strangely longing, got caught in her throat.

"You'll understand when it's over, Abby. I promise."

* * *

  _She woke up screaming._


	4. Chapter 4

She put on a brave face the next morning. Knowing full well she was failing at appearing unaffected as she tried her best to rise above the lingering afterimages of the nightmare. Focus threading out here and there as the sharp glint of Marcus' fangs sullied her memory of his smile. Every haze of movement she caught out of the corner of her eye was a threat. No one mentioned it, but she could see the questions in the back of Clarke's eyes. Unable to help the anger she was nursing at herself. Hating herself for that weakness. How it felt like she'd let him down somehow. Let both of them down.

She needed this to be over.

_She needed Marcus to come home._

* * *

 

When she relieved Jackson in the morning she was happy to see Sinclair sitting up in bed. Tired, but alert as he sucked half-heartedly at a bowl of ice-chips. Watching the activity in the infirmary with a bit too much interest as Lincoln remained impassive and watchful in a chair beside the door. Just in case.

"You still have a bit of sensitivity to light," she observed, pocketing her pen light as Sinclair blinked and jerked away from the gentle light. "But it looks like everything is settling back to normal. How are you feeling?" she asked, finishing his check-up and entering her findings into her data pad as his crackled lips parted.

Sinclair winced, making an aborted motion to talk before his sore gums put up a fuss. Frowning up at her as she tapped pointedly at his bowl of ice-chips.

"I'm afraid your gums are going to hurt for a while. The freezing only seems to work temporally, but we should have you back on solid food within a week. Have you kept anything down yet?"

"A bit," he rasped, voice hoarse and wrecked around the edges. "Jackson brought up some sort of soy-protein shake this morning. I think it stayed down for about three hours before-"

She smiled as he mimed out the rest. Having a pretty good idea considering she'd been front and center when he'd started vomiting blood the night before. Stomach purging itself of everything it was no longer able to process as Jasper and Octavia were quietly sick in the bathroom the next hall over in sympathy.

"It's not surprising," she assured him, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Your system was altered on a genetic level for processing raw blood- it's going to take time for everything to get back to normal. You've been through a lot. Don't push yourself."

He nodded, eyes tired and blood-shot as he leaned back against the pillows.

"I didn't get a chance to thank you," he said softly – seriously. Black curls slicked to his scalp with day old sweat. Chest rising and falling just bit faster and heavier than it should have been under the thin of his medical gown.

She opened her mouth to say it wasn't necessary but he didn't let her get that far. Holding up his hand and shaking his head.

"No, listen- what you guys did? There's no way to thank you for that. I would have killed you if I had the chance. And I wouldn't have even felt it. It was me- I was there, but-" he trailed off, conflicted. Looking down at where his right hand was still caught firmly in Raven's as she slept in the chair beside his bed. Head pillowed in the mattress beside his right hip, completely dead to the world.

"You remember everything, but some of it doesn't process the way it should. You know something is wrong- you know this is something you would have never considered doing before all this- but you do it anyway," he told her shakily, throat bobbing. "It was- I don't know how to describe it."

"Instinct?" she supplied.

The line of his lips was tense when he dipped his head in a shallow nod.

I guess- no, that's a lie," he admitted, free hand spitting out like an extension of the words. Nails dull and blunt against the wick, but still not quite flesh colored.

"That was part of it, but honestly- I hate to say it but it was like _I knew better_. I knew you, all of you. And I understood why you were doing what you were doing, but- I didn't care. She was all that mattered," he murmured, thumb brushing slow – back and forth – over the smooth of Raven's hand. So delicate and feather-careful it must have felt like no more than a shift in the air currents.

The memory of when Sinclair jumped the fence flashed through her mind's eye. Everything from his posture to the look in his eyes exuding strength and capability. Like there was no doubt in his mind that he was going to get what he came for. Even if it meant killing each and every one of them to get to her.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her data pad as she looked down at Raven.

As she thought about what was going through Marcus' mind right now.

Maybe miles away, but still absolutely fixed on her.

Indra had been right.

_What wouldn't you do for the ones you loved?_

"What Indra described and from what I saw yesterday, it wouldn't surprise me," she told him kindly, blunt enough that he wouldn't dismiss it outright but with enough cushioning to save him some of the heartache and self-hatred that was going to come later. "The virus turns you into an apex predator – the top of the food chain. Perhaps that mindset comes with the territory?"

But even then she knew that wasn't quite right.

Because his mind hadn't been gone when he'd come for Raven.

Who he was hadn't been erased and replaced by raw instinct and rage.

It had still be him underneath.

Sharper, crueler, stronger, maybe- but him none the less.

"I watched the tapes," he negated, shivering until gooseflesh pimpled down the bare of his arms. "I was telling the truth you know. I was with him. Marcus, I mean. We were together for a while out there. He was beside me when I woke up, waited for me to finish the change. He'd killed something- a deer- we fed together. It was just- we knew what to do. We were connected. We understood."

The Marcus that had come to her the night before rose from a predatory crouch in her mind's eye. Bare chested, blood streaked and ready. Claws glinting black through the filter of a dying sun. Dripping red with gore as the profile of his face made a mockery of the shadows. Poised to strike the moment they turned their backs and-

"It was so strange, everything was heightened. It was a high but not in the way you might be thinking. Everything was simple, clear. There no doubt. That's what this thing does, it burns all the doubt away," Sinclair told her, each word growing in intensity until his free hand was crawling across the sheets, not stopping until she dropped her pad on the tray-table and held it in both of her own. Shushing him as the beat from the heart rate monitor ramped up- blinking furiously as he trembled – desperate to get out the rest before sleep took him back.

"Sinclair, it's alright. We're safe here, don't-"

His eyes were blood-shot – not afraid – no, it was worse than that.

_They were resigned._

"All those thing we keep hidden? What we want – what we need – what we've always wanted to have for our very own? They come out- and they come out _hungry_. He's out there Abby. And believe me, nothing on Earth is going to keep him away."

* * *

 

She exploded out of the side door and into the tree-filtered sunlight. Breathing hard as the doors that led back into the infirmary fluttered uselessly behind her. Creaky and unused to being free as she leaned down, hands on her knees. Taking in deep lungful's of air until she felt a little less like her heart was going to explode.

Everything was so backwards – _wrong._

She'd let Sinclair's words get to her. She could admit that. Worse, she believed him. It was hard not to. This was an inheritance that was going to be with them for a while. Even after Marcus was cured, there was still going to be fall out. In more ways than one.

She leaned up against the sun-warmed metal, rubbing circles counter-clockwise around her temples in an effort to stave off a headache that was already well on its way. Taking comfort in the steady hum of the electric fence buzzing away in the background like a second pulse. The same one Sinclair had been able to clear in a single leap only a few hours ago.

Because the thing she was wrestling with?

Her dream?

It was stuck in the back of her throat like a cough.

Because when Marcus had gathered her up, just like she'd always wanted him to?

It'd felt a whole lot like she'd _let_ him bite her.

* * *

 

She was still outside trying to pull herself together when Indra and Lincoln found her.

"Doctor Griffin, you should not be outside alone," Indra chastened, coming to a stop in front of her - directly between her and fence like the separation of bodies would somehow make difference if Marcus decided to join them.

"Any word?" she asked, too fed up to mask the hope in her voice as thoughts of when Sinclair had been first spotted raced through her head like landing engines stuck on overdrive.

Lincoln shook his head, expression passive and kind.

"Nothing," Indra answered, fingering the hand carved ridges of her blow-gun with clear frustration. Visibly uneasy, perhaps for the first time since she'd known her as the woman inspected the trees on the other side of the fence. "Our scouts have reported no movement. No sign of him."

"And that bothers you…" she trailed off, a question without a mark so that it was everything else but in name. Feeling the grit under her feet catch and scuff across the soles.

"Unless they're a great distance away from their intended. It is not known- we have never known someone to stay away for so long - and stay hidden," Lincoln shared, the lines of his face temporarily cast in shadow – turning dark and almost gaunt – as a cloud blocked off the sun.

"Sinclair came for Raven immediately," Indra reminded, cutting to the point with her usual blunt, unforgiving grace. "Kane-"

"Hasn't," she finished softly. Slowly catching onto the woman's paranoia as an animal she didn't recognize chittered and yowled from the treetops on the other side of the fence. Offensive and out of place – like laughter at a funeral.

"Yes." Indra echoed, body language hinging in misplaced aggression as she shifted onto her heels. "I know Kane as both a politician and a warrior. He is capable and skilled at each. However-"

"You don't know what he's going to do next?" she supplied, pausing a moment before the rest flooded over her in real time. "You don't know what he is going to do like this…because he isn't behaving the way the others did?"

Unease was an emotion with an aridic, desert-dry aftertaste.

_She was head strong, stubborn._

_Worse, Marcus knew that better than most._

She scanned the treeline - probably a bit too obviously – seeing nothing.

Still, they were probably right.

It was time to go inside.

"I was going crazy in there," she admitted, turning to lead the way back inside. Firmly swallowing the wounded little sore where her ego lived. Knowing they had good intentions as the urge to set her shoulders and do the complete opposite warred with her better judgement. "Besides, I can't be a prisoner inside my own home. If we let that happen then-"

She trailed off, hiccupping her way through a breath as the sudden silence dragged.

Realizing with dawning horror that the background buzz of the fence was no longer there.

Steady and dependable in the background.

In fact, there was no noise at all.

Even the forest was silent.

Indra and Lincoln shifted as one, going for their weapons as they pivoted on their heels. Turning a brutal half circle on either side as the silence or maybe just the expression on her face alerted them that something wasn't quite right.

She swallowed, hard. The tips of her fingers buzzing with awkward adrenaline as she stared at the wavering green on the other side of the fence. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for him. For it to finally be over before-

There was a half-moment of tingling awareness before strong, familiar arms curled around her from behind.


	5. Chapter 5

All the breath in her body left in a rush when he gathered her up. Inhaling throatily into the crux of her neck as she remained frozen. Nails digging into the bloody tatters of his sleeves as she held herself absolutely still. Watching Indra and Lincoln stiffen. Put in the unique position of watching them watch Marcus - blades drawn.

"Kane," Indra greeted, tone gritty. Angry in a wounded, personal sort of a way she didn't realize Indra felt towards him until that very moment. She knew Marcus had long viewed the woman as a friend - as well as an ally. But she'd never seen her return the sentiment until right now.

"You won't hurt her," Indra said confidently, perhaps as a distraction as Lincoln's free hand ghosted slowly down his side. Fingertips flirting towards where his blow gun was attached at his hip.

"Never," Marcus breathed, breath blood-stale and iron-tinted against her skin as the flat of his thumb rubbed back and forth across her arm as her breathing grew ragged. Unable to control the unsteady gulps of air her body kept taking. Hyper aware of the unfamiliar strength in the arms that bracketed her waist. Knuckles brushing the underside of her breasts as her legs wobbled underneath her.

 _"Deja vu,"_ part of her whispered - only slightly hysterical - as the lingering echoes of her nightmare threatened to drown out what was happening in front of her.

"We cannot let you do this," Indra told him, lips pressed in a tight, unforgiving line as Lincoln slowly - _ever so slowly_ \- eased the blow gun out of its sheath. "If you wish to claim Doctor Griffin you must do it as you are. As _who_ you are. Not what you have become."

"You can't stop me," Marcus pointed out, arms tightening around her a fraction.

"This is not what you want," Lincoln interjected, one hand raised peaceably even as the other slowly drew out the blow gun. Hand steady as he inserted one of the darts without once looking away. "The man I know - the man I have come to know and respect - would never put Doctor Griffin in danger."

Behind her Marcus' chest rose and fell like bellows. Labored and fast. She looked down- realizing that somewhere along the line her hands had tangled themselves over top his. Holding him as he held her.

"I came for her," Marcus hissed, showing his fangs as Indra and Lincoln took a cautious step forward. Blow gun halfway to Lincoln's lips like a threat. "All this was for her. To make it better. I know now. There's a better way."

A swell of nausea threatened to make headway when her eyes focused on the muddy red of his wrists. There was dried blood flaking off his hands. Fluttering down to pepper across her shirt sleeves.

_Oh god- oh god._

"Marcus...please," she murmured, soft and low and fractured with rising fear. Trying to ignore the ominous feeling that she'd done all this before and failed. "Let us help you. Let me-"

"You _want_ to come with me...you _want_ to be with me," he rasped, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into the sensitive skin below her ear. Making her shiver.

It wasn't a question.

It was a statement of fact.

And she didn't dispute it.

"You aren't listening, my friend," Indra told him, stalling. Advancing again as Marcus stood his ground behind her. "She wishes to help you. You are sick, Kane. If you do this she will be sick as well. There are times when this sickness causes death rather than rebirth. Would you risk her life so needlessly? Yu laik nou speaking kom your true tombom."

Her eyes darted over to Lincoln.

_Almost._

She caught the man's gaze, nodding minutely.

If she could keep the dart embedded in his skin long enough, maybe-

Marcus chuckled darkly, chilling her with how hollow and different it sounded with the low rumble of a growl coloring the finishing edges. Echoing far too long in the stifling eco-system of anxiety they'd built above their heads.

"It won't work. What you're doing? Stalling for time? It's already over. But you can come with us. Accept the change, like I did. Then you will understand. You should join us, Indra. Both of you," Marcus returned, precise and easy like he believed every word. Like he couldn't see the connotations the words came with.

The muscles in his chest flexed against her back. Belying the strength underneath as he met their next step forward with one of his own. Threatening to make good on his words as the space that separated them grew smaller and smaller.

"Yu were wronged, disha was nou your choice," Indra told him, shaking her head as she spoke in Trigedasleng. "Hear me, ai friend. Hear your words. Disha ste nou right."

She craned her neck just in time to watch Marcus bare his fangs. Shifting her so that she was been held up with one of his hands, not two. Allowing the free one to flare out, sharp claws spread like a threat as everything went from bad to insanely worse.

"No, don't, _please_ ," she urged, not realizing she was speaking to all of them at once until she was in too deep not to keep talking. Squeezing her hand over Marcus' as she looked over at Indra and Lincoln, hair hanging in front of her eyes. "He came for me. Just-"

Indra and Lincoln paused, giving her enough time to look up at Marcus again. Feeling the full of his attention switch to her as she swallowed through the lump in her throat. Trying to get through to him. To the part of him she knew was still there, locked away and screaming.

"You came for me, right? Marcus- we don't need them. Leave them alone, please? For me?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Lincoln pressed his lips against the mouth of the blow gun.

"Come inside with me, let me help you. Come home…please."

He frowned, head cocking to the side like she'd confused him.

"You won't come?"

Her hesitation was an animal. Drudging, dishonest and ultimately fearful when his expression darkened.

"You'll understand," he whispered, holding her pinned – like a butterfly trapped in a gentle, mesh prison – when he forced her head to turn. Exposing the pale of her neck as Indra made an aborted sound in front of them. "...after."

His fangs sunk deep the same moment Lincoln's dart buried itself in his neck.

Just half a second too late.

* * *

The ground was soft, trickling dust between her fingers as she fisted her hands in the grass.

She whimpered, strangling the sound through clenched teeth as the echo of Lincoln and Indra's yells hazed in and out in her ears. Feeling the wet of blood trickling down her neck as a strange, internal burn built up underneath her skin. She gasped, slicing the skin between her fingers on a spindly thatch of grass riddled with thorns. But the pain kept building. Shooting through nerves and tendons as every muscle in her body screamed in agony.

That was the first time she registered Marcus must have dropped her.

She shook her head, vision blurred. Sparking light and dark sporadically as Marcus crouched in front of her – protective. Pulling the dart from his neck with a roar that shook the birds from the trees. Deflecting another with the sharp of his claws before dodging smoothly. Effortlessly. So entirely in his element that when he charged - hitting Indra and Lincoln with a running leap that flipped him up and over their heads – it seemed nothing more than child's play when he slammed their heads together. Tarting the air with a sound that reverberated. Feeling the impact in her teeth as they crumpled to the ground - unconscious.

She was lost after that. Spinning around and around inside her head until suddenly Marcus was there, holding her.

"It will be over soon," he murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair as he smoothed the wisps from her face. Tipping her chin so he could see her as her hand thumped weakly against his side. Finally fighting back or maybe just needing him as he rumbled like comfort. Feeling the sound sink deep as her head lolled back against his chest. "Don't you see? The earth wants us back."

The world was too bright.

Too much.

Too-

"Everything will make sense soon, I promise," he told her, upsetting her relationship with gravity as he gathered her up in his arms. Easy, strong and capable. "Rest."

The last thing she registered before the dark took her was the feeling of weightlessness, a smooth impact and the gentle slap of leaves whispering across her skin before everything went black.

* * *

She woke up to a new hunger burning like arousal. Desperate like starvation as she clawed her way back to consciousness by sheer force of will. Hissing - feline and barbed - as new sensations, new instincts, new scents, awareness and impressions rolled over her like a rising fog.

She woke up to his scent all around her.

To him holding her close in the mossy hollow of a dying oak.

Watching the sun streak colors like a celebration across the dusky sky.

His hands tightened around her for a long moment when she stirred. Reassuring her in the most basic way before letting her stretch. Unfurling like new growth as the world ushered in. Connecting her to the oldest roots and the most ancient ways as all the voices her head slowly settled.

"It's okay now, isn't it?" he purred, chest rumbling with pleasant mate-sounds as her fingers scratched across his scalp. Enjoying the thrum of his heart against hers as she carded her hands through his hair. Showing her interest as the firm of his cock pressed into the small of her back. "I knew- I knew it would be when I came for you. I knew it would make sense."

She smiled up at him, new fangs sharp against her lower lip. Threatening to shed the sweet blood underneath as two very different types of hunger rose in her.

"I know," she murmured, sitting up. Palms pressing into the springy, earth-warmed moss before turning to face him. Leaning in until they were inches apart and wanting. Scenting him with exaggerated, lazy pulls as the natural order of things fell into place around them.

Time hazed slow – _unimportant_ – as she soaked him in.

They were the rulers here.

Nature's perfect predator.

She examined the dark of her claws. Testing the sharpness playfully as she hooked them in the shredded filth of Marcus' shirt and slowly – _teasingly_ – cut it away. Watching him watch her as the dark of his pupils expanded with clear arousal. Letting her do what she wanted as he leaned back against the trunk of the tree. Chest rising and falling as the fabric fluttered limply to the ground. Rank with the smell of sweat, fever and old blood.

"You want to go back," she stated, running the new sharp of her nails down his bare chest.

It wasn't a question.

She didn't need his words for that.

She just knew.

She could sense it.

_Smell it._

"Yes," he answered, running his fingers down her throat. Thumbing the mar of his bite with something near reverence. "And so do you. For Clarke."

"For Clarke," she echoed, nodding. Feeling the need under her skin like a distant call.

But then she frowned.

"They don't know. They don't understand. They _changed_ Sinclair. _I changed him_ ," she said slowly, feeling a disconcerting rush of _something_ as she struggled to find the words for the crime that had been committed. "They taught his bones to doubt."

Sinclair had come for Raven.

Just like Marcus had come for her.

And they'd stopped him.

The feeling – like a shame, loss and rage - threatened to overwhelm her.

They'd interfered needlessly, she knew that now.

Marcus only leaned closer, brushing his kiss against hers as she surged up gratefully. Fangs grazing as the kiss deepened. Growing heated as she crawled into his lap and straddled him. Rasping a pleased sound into the humid air when his hips ground into the cradle of her thighs. _Wanting_.

"We can show them – make them understand," Marcus told her, groaning when she captured his hand in hers and pricked his thumb with her fangs. Keeping her eyes solely on him as she licked at the red starting welling up. Beading up in a beautiful, crimson dome until it disappeared between her lips. Sucking the digit clean as her tongue flicked across the sensitive pad.

_Yes._

_Yes, they could show them._

_They could take Sinclair back._

_Make him whole again._

_They could make sure nothing harmed their people ever again._

She leaned back, body thrumming with pleasure. Host to a spreading feeling of rightness that soaked through her like sunlight. Watching the tree tops shiver high above them. But it wasn't until his hands came to rest on her hips – thumbs rubbing at the strip of skin just below her navel, pressing at the zipper of her jeans with the blunt of his claws - that her predatory smile spread. Licking her lips as he flashed his fangs at her in a joyful challenge.

Daring her to make the next move.

"But they can wait…" she breathed, nibbling at the corner of his lips like an overture as he surged up, hungry for more. Demanding and bold as he caught her around the waist and flipped them. Pressing her back into the hollow – pants visibly tented. "…For now."

His purr, deep-seeded and rich, was the only reply when the air around them tinted thick with arousal. Hands tangling in each other's belt loops as she buried her hands in his hair. Encouraging everything she could pull out of him as she cupped his cock through his trousers. Feeling her own wetness caress her skin, rubbing sinfully against the cotton-damp of her underwear as he peeled off her jeans and tossed them into the green behind them.

This was where they belonged now.

Marcus had been right all along.

She understood now.

_She understood everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> * "yu laik nou speaking kom your true tombom." = "You are not speaking with your true heart."
> 
> * "You were wronged, this was not your choice. Hear me, my friend. Hear your words. This is not right." = Yu were wronged, disha was nou your choice. Hear me, ai friend. Hear your words. Disha ste nou right."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is told in Sinclair's perspective.

The infirmary was quiet. Skeleton-still and deserted save for the gentle hush of recycled air as he slowly pulled himself upright in the gurney-bed. Giving up on the idea of sleep with an irritated sigh as he swung his legs over the side. Bare toes skimming over frigid metal until he was too committed to do anything else but slowly ease himself to his feet.

He stood there for a moment, holding onto the side of the bed with dull, flesh colored nails. Feeling the muscles in his legs twitch and ache as he blinked sleep out of his eyes. Being vertical – or at least doing it by himself, without Jackson and Raven hovering – was still something of a luxury. He'd been forced to admit that the virus had taken more out of him than he'd initially thought. Especially after he'd tried and failed to make his own way to the bathroom the day after Marcus cut power to the main fence and attacked Indra, Lincoln and Abby outside the infirmary. In fact, he doubted he'd slept so much his entire life then he had over the past few days.

_Christ- and he still felt like pounded shit._

The edges of his hospital gown fluttered pathetically, whispering just above his knees as he wobbled a bit. Eying the clock shining from the console on Abby's desk. _4:30am._ He grimaced, looking down at himself. Nose wrinkling as the stale smell of sweat, blood and god knows what else issued just a bit too strong to be ignored.

He sighed.

_Well, first things first._

* * *

 

The moment the hot spray hit his back was like taking his first deep breath after days of suffocating, shallow ones. It was like finally reaching the surface and knowing everything was going to be alright. Like everything he already knew but hadn't had a chance to actually _feel_ until the heat started pummeling the soreness out of his body.

He leaned heavily against the wall, right hip cocked so that the wall was taking the majority of his weight. Not quite trusting his legs to keep him steady as he lathered a half-palm full of shampoo into his hair. Working it deep as the water pooling at his feet slushed dark with dirt and dried blood.

He closed his eyes. Letting himself have this one small thing as the air turned muggy and close. Misting piping hot water into steam as he turned his face into the spray. Letting the water stream through his hair and down the curve of his chin. Trying not to think of how empty the infirmary felt without Abby. How the entire camp seemed hushed and afraid. How Marcus had looked when Raven had shown him the tapes. A mirror image of himself just days before – feral, competent and wild.

But that hadn't been it.

_Not even close._

He hadn't said anything- he hadn't even tried to put it into words.

But seeing Marcus like that?

It'd been like nothing else.

And cured or not, recognition had still rippled through him like a brand new fever.

_Dominant._

_Alpha._

_Leader._

The low lights flickered-flashed behind closed lids and suddenly he was back there. Watching his reflection in a crazed man's eyes as blood streaked between the seam of his lips. Bubbling up his throat and flowing from his sinuses as the grate of broken bones shifting against each other went from deafening to dead silent when he was thrown against the trunk of a tree. Turning his scream into a whimper as the distant sounds of gun-fire pealed through the trees.

He caught himself before he toppled over, center of gravity still off. Holding onto the safety railing installed for just that reason as he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Bones weak and unsteady as he eased himself down into a crouch. Centering himself as the water pounded down the small of his back. Unsympathetic and harsh, but strangely enough _exactly_ what he needed.

He shook himself, muscles bunching as he slowly pulled himself upright. Making a grab for his towel as he cranked off the water and used the wall as rudder. Wrapping his towel around his waist as he grabbed the spare headset he'd snatched from Abby's desk and keyed it to the appropriate channel.

_Get it together Sinclair._

_You have work to do._

Because he did.

And the truth was, it couldn't wait.

* * *

He felt optimistically human after his shower and shrugging into his own clothes. Getting on the radio and sending one of his trainees to his quarters to grab his gear as he decided to make it official. Finding himself almost smiling as the familiar whirl of his systems booting up soothed him back into a sense of normalcy.

He commandeered one of the smaller work tables in the corner of the infirmary as he set up shop. Ignoring his inbox and everything had had piled up as far as work went and instead tapped into the infirmary computers. Pulling up all the information they had on the virus as a network of ideas and possibilities bubbled up from the perpetual fog he'd been living under ever since he'd woken up in the infirmary. Ever since he'd fully registered Raven's hand firmly crushed in his. Swallowing thickly and trying to fight the urge to dry heave as the coppery taste of old blood and the throb of his screaming gums turned consciousness into his own personal brand of hell on earth.

_He had no idea there were so many nerves in the mouth until he'd been forced to grow and then promptly push out a large set of curved, poison-laced fangs._

According to his trainee - clearly awed and nervous as he'd edged awkwardly into the room to deliver the lot - thanks to Jasper and his big mouth everyone in camp had seen the surveillance footage of him jumping the fence. Parroting on about free speech- about proof that vampires actually _did_ exist and that perhaps surviving on the surface had mutated the virus somehow- or maybe it was just our original understanding of the myth that was flawed. But meanwhile ensuring just about everyone had managed to see him like, well, _that._

It was something he was going to have to deal with, sooner or later. Probably when he wasn't so damn tired and the risk of Marcus and Abby coming back wasn't as dire as it actually was. Either way, Jasper would probably be on latrine duty for the foreseeable future. That much he could personally guarantee. Just for the headache this had caused.

But privately, he wasn't completely convinced that Jasper wasn't right, after all.

There were too many similarities for him to dismiss the theory out right.

Which was honestly kind of terrifying, actually.

* * *

It didn't take long for code to start flying under his fingers. Rediscovering his niche – his own personal set of strengths – as the green strings of numbers and letters reflected in the dark across screen-washed skin.

And hour or two into writing, he hissed- left hand seizing with a sudden cramp.

He looked down at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist. Fingers flexing as he tried to ease the soreness. Remembering the pain being so distant - righteous - when he'd watched his nails lengthen, sharpening in to claws as he'd breathed unsteadily into the disturbed earth. Hearing Marcus' soft churl rumbling encouragingly above him as he'd clawed his way free from the den he'd scratched himself into while the change had rippled through him.

Things were still a mess in his head. _His body._ He was still riding the highs and lows. Unable to shake the feeling that he'd lost something staggeringly important. The surety and confidence. The raw, animal capability. The connection with things - with the world and everything in it that'd left him feeling empty and irrationally angry. It was the burden of that knowledge that was the problem. Knowing there was an entirely different sort of awareness available in the world and knowing that for a fraction of a moment he'd owned it.

_But now-_

His lip quirked, self-deprecating and just a little bitter as the code on the screen shone back at him. Concentration officially shattered. He knew it was the last of the virus still affecting him, but for some reason he couldn't compartmentalize. He couldn't pack the feelings away and push through like he did with everything else.

He'd never been an insecure person.

He was quiet. Introverted.

Most of all, he knew his worth.

But this?

It'd had been different.

It'd pulled at a part of him he didn't even know he had.

He'd been a part of something.

_Something greater._

_Something more._

And now-

The infirmary door opened. Startling him out of his head as Raven peeked around the corner. Clearly expecting him to still be in bed before her eyes ranged and found him in the far corner.

"Hey, what are you doing up?" she chirped, tired but with a smile he knew was mostly for his benefit. He smiled back, because it felt good to share. And honestly, after everything they'd been through, the old rules- the old walls he'd set up between her and just another potentially disappointing paternal figure had melted away. Close as they were, he'd always kept her at an arm's length. Seemed kind of stupid now, to tell the truth.

"I got tired of smelling myself," he answered. "And I figured if I could, so could everyone else. Besides, I wanted privacy to burn that gown."

She shrugged, smothering a laugh as she closed the door and limped into the room.

"Oh, I don't know, according to some of the nurses you made the hospital wardrobe look good."

He snorted. Not exactly sure how to respond to that as she joined him at the monitors. Leaning down to see what he was up to as her eyes skimmed back and forth down the page of code.

"Been busy, huh?" she commented, settling down beside him. Still sneaking peeks at the screen as her usual curiosity reared itself. His smile took a turn when his fingers curled into the facsimile of claws above the keyboard. Reminding him of what it'd felt like when he'd slashed out – right at the precise moment – and sliced the throat of a wild boar. Drinking his fill before his insides pulled him back to Arkadia. Feeding his hunger as the living red sprayed across the leaves and his fangs sunk deep. Finding the main arteries like breathing as he rode out the creatures dying spasms. Growling as his fangs worried deeper and deeper- celebrating the life he'd taken as the sweet spill of blood trickled down his chin.

He didn't realize he'd gotten lost until he registered her hand on his arm.

"Hey, you alright?" Raven questioned. Frowning. Worried. "Sinclair?"

He pulled away fractionally. Leaning back in his chair and wishing for some water to chase the ghost of blood from his mouth.

"I'm fine," he told her, turning back to his computer as discomfort threatened to flare across his cheeks like blush.

"Liar," she muttered, eyebrows jumping in that way she had. When she was visibly holding herself back from saying something she knew he wouldn't like. Apparently he was still being treated with kid gloves. _Lovely._

"Any sign of them?" he asked, deciding to ignore the rest for the time being as he brought up the surveillance feeds outside the compound and checked them one by one. Dark. Dark. Dark. Semi dark. The sun hadn't risen yet. Everything was quiet. As far as he knew Clarke was still with Bellamy, Indra, Lincoln and Octavia. Trying to make some sort of plan for when Abby and Marcus returned – on edge in one of the service bays with a round the clock guard detail.

"Nope," she returned, popping the 'p' with tired dramatism as she stole his spare rollout keyboard and plugged it into the other monitor. "Nice deflection by the way, didn't work but still- points for effort."

Ah, it was going to be one of _those_ conversations.

The ones where he gets one or two words in edgewise before-

"What is it? Really?" she insisted, determinedly not looking at him as the awkwardness of the moment threatened to overwhelm her good intentions. "I know this has been a lot, but you haven't been operating on full thrusters since-"

"I got all fangy?" he returned bluntly. Just because he could. Already feeling the strain of staying upright for this long - which honestly had him more frustrated than anything else. He let his fingers hover above the keys for a determined half-second before sagging back into his lap. Giving up on all pretenses of working in favor of cocking a brow and channeling Jasper as he bared his teeth.

"You said it, not me," she returned non-committably. Lips quirking at the gesture. Appreciating the attempt at humor as the low light turned the dark circles under her eyes into hollows.

The truth was- he didn't actually know.

He just felt off.

Out of place.

_Disconnected._

"I can't concentrate," he answered honestly, because it was true and probably the easiest thing to admit at this point.

"You were just infected by a virus that literally rewrote your DNA on a molecular level, Sinclair. Then you had to go through the same thing but in reverse, all in under a week. Cut yourself some slack, I'd say you earned it," she answered, like it was obvious and easy and all he was really looking for was an out. A reason to sweep this all under the rug and go back to his stale, sterile smelling sheets and start this conversation again tomorrow. "Why are you pushing this? Give yourself a break, huh?"

His laugh was little more than a self-criminalizing huff of air as he shook his head.

"I can still feel it," he told her, staring down at his nails like he needed the assurance that they were still smooth and human. "My hands are-"

"Jackson said it would take time," she interrupted, leg brace catching on the lip of the chair with a _cli-clunk-click_ as she turned to face him. That old Raven Reyes confidence and self-assuredness only highlighting his indecision.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

_It was cellular whiplash._

_The virus might be flushed out of his system but he still had the echoes._

"That isn't it, is it?" she said after a moment. Making him crack a lid, then sigh when he found her staring fixedly back at him like he was a problem only she could solve. "Let's hear it then."

And maybe she was right. Until Marcus and Abby got back, Raven was probably the only one here who might be able to understand what he was going through-

He trailed off, realizing she was doubly right. Suddenly seizing on why he'd been so on edge ever since she'd come in. Percolating on the sudden realization like seething as the muscles in his legs twitched and jumped under the table.

"You won't like it," he warned, fiddling with the position of his keyboard as he tried not to let himself dwell on what he remembered from that moment in Raven's room.

"Tough," she declared, whip-crack easy as she tossed her pony tail back with unconscious flare.

"I keep thinking that if I had- if I _had_ bitten you. The virus would have…fixed everything. Your leg," he answered. Feeling a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding on to deflate slowly in his chest as the truth left him in an off-centered rush.

When he finally looked up, he found her looking at him with an expression he'd never seen on her before. Something between disbelief and incredulity. And worse, something else that honestly made him wonder how deeply her mother had wounded her sense of self-worth. Because for a fraction of a second she looked at him like he couldn't possibility be real and if he was, he couldn't possibly mean it when it came to her.

But eventually, of course, there were words. Deflecting body language and a small seedling of a smile that reminded him that contrary to his recent experience, there were still good things left in the world.

"I don't need a miracle cure," she told him bluntly. "Besides, Jackson said that with some research the healing properties of the virus might be able to be used for good someday. And if they are I will be the first in line. Hell, I'll even be the Guinea pig- trust me. But the truth is- even if you had, I wouldn't want it. Not like that. Not when you weren't really there, you know? When it's going to be something you're going to regret later."

There was a lump in his throat that hadn't been there for a long time. Not since the crash and the empty space beside him where he'd wife had been only seconds before.

"My leg might be messed up, but I'm _not_ broken. I used to think I was- in more ways than just this. But-"

"You aren't," he told her. Feeling the bones in his elbows pop and creak as he leaned in. Letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Light and gentle like a reminder. _Like he believed it._ Part of him still able to see the scrappy little girl that'd charmed him out of half his lunch rations when he caught her hiding under his desk in Engineering with a broken hydro-spanner. Dead set on playing make believe as she looked up at him through unkempt bangs and hollow cheeks and demanded – in all her state – to know what he was working on.

"I'm not," she echoed, strong as ever as he returned her smile like a mirror needing a reflection.

_She wasn't._

_And neither was he._

* * *

The virtue of hindsight would make that moment both precious and surprisingly relatable.

After all, it was Raven Reyes telling him he was going to be alright.

And really- who was he to argue?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is also told in Sinclair's perspective.

"So," Raven wheedled, breaking the tension with her usual, cut right through the bullshit approach. "What are you working on?"

He latched onto the out gratefully.

"Jackson was talking about a way to make the cure airborne. Something that wouldn't need close contact to be viable. Something that the infected can't remove or escape from," he explained, turning the monitor so she could see basics of the program he was writing and a rough blueprint of how to implement it. "I think it's our best chance to get them both without risking Clarke or anyone else. Abby knows about the syringe plan, she'll be expecting it. They both will."

"You think they're coming back?"

He fixed her with an incredulous look.

"Okay, okay… stupid question," she admitted, shaking her head before looking back at the monitor. "But it's been a couple days since Marcus grabbed Abby for their fun filled, infection-vacation. What the hell are they waiting for?"

He kept his assumptions to himself. He'd learned firsthand on the Ark that sometimes silence was the best answer. Feeling it was safer that way as her nose wrinkled into a frustrated frown. He drummed his fingers against the desk. Everyone knew Marcus and Abby were close. So what did two people like that – who've felt that way about each other all this time – do when the walls come down? All the socially constructed barriers people lived their lives inside?

He already knew what he'd do.

Hell, he'd done it already.

Or tried to at least.

"With you we knew you were coming," she muttered, pony-tail shush-shushing over her shoulder as she shook her head. "Indra's scouts spotted you entering Trikru territory. You weren't trying to hide."

The sudden realization that happened next was like a cold tidal wash creeping inland.

"Oh god," she groaned, head flomping back against the head rest as she let go of a minor explosion of a breath. Fingers curling around the edge of the desk like she was ready to swing herself up and into the action at a moment's notice. "I know that face. What is it?"

The fractured mess of impressions and emotions he'd been working through during his shower surged forward. Finding himself speaking out loud as he slowly put his thoughts to voice, working his way through it in real time as Raven watched him carefully.

"A leader's purpose is to protect and provide. When I was infected, that hierarchy was the same, but it was raw. Primal, almost. No, _definitely_ primal. Marcus is – for all intents and purposes - the leader. When we were attacked and infected, he was the one that found me. He turned before me. I don't know how or why, but he made sure I was fed. He stayed with me, we ran together. There was definitely structure, and I understood where I fit in. No question. Same with him."

"Which means?" Raven inquired, soft like she didn't want to interrupt the flow but couldn't stop herself from asking. Expression closed off and worried.

"When they come back they aren't just coming for Clarke or me," he returned, holding up a hand when she made to protest. "They're coming for all of us. Trust me. This is Marcus. The only thing he's ever wanted is for everyone to be safe- happy. The virus is the perfect template for someone that only wants the best for the people they care about."

The tail-end of the sentence was delivered softly.

Like it was a blow in of itself and he wasn't sure how she'd take it.

He watched her throat bob through a swallow before he found himself speaking again. Feeling the need to say it, even though it felt like overkill. Wanting her to understand that in spite of everything he'd said, he didn't want that again. And that if he did, if they got him, he might not be able to stop himself from-

"Raven, we have to be prepared for it. Abby will be coming for Clarke but Marcus will be targeting certain people first. And I'm-"

"He won't," she slapped back, tossing back her hair and squaring her shoulders as her mouth slanted itself in a brutal line. "They won't. We won't let them get that far. I promise."

The determination behind the words was momentarily staggering.

It made him think about waking up to the warm curl of her hand in his.

It made him think about handing her back her crutches and watching her power through the pain.

It made him think of a hundred thousand moments over the years and the glowing pride he'd felt after assigning her to her first duty shift.

He swallowed, smiling small.

The irony was he'd told Clarke once that Raven was the only thing he had left.

He'd never considered it might the same for her.

It was a heady feeling – intimidating - but it settled in the pit of his belly like something warm.

_Like something that felt like home._

When he finally looked up, her eyes were already waiting for him. Bright and burning with that familiar fire that made him want to laugh at himself more than anything else.

"So, let's do this," she firmed, bringing her hand up to rest on top of his. Fingers laced with spider-line scars and healing bruises from live wires and spitting fuses, just like his. "Together, alright?"

"Together," he agreed with tired warmth. Pressing up with his knuckles so that she could feel the pressure before pulling away and shaking out the achy soreness. Leaning over to adjust the second monitor as he brought up the half-finished program. "Let's get to work, Reyes."

He felt more like himself than he had in weeks.

* * *

Between Jackson, Raven and himself, they got the ball rolling. Jackson synthesized the sample into something that could be piped through the air vents anywhere in Arkadia with the program Raven helped him finish. While Indra, Lincoln, Octavia, Clarke, Bellamy and the others settled on their best bet in terms of trapping and containment when Abby and Marcus finally made an appearance.

They all knew they were working against a ticking clock. Keeping Jackson, Harper and Jasper at the monitors, watching for any sign of them. But somehow, the tension that'd been building in the back of his mind only eased the closer they got to being ready.

_This was going to work._

_He could feel it._

The plan was to get them into the same room – the communal showers were the obvious choice – and lock them inside. It was simple, if slightly inelegant. The doors on the showers were originally from the Ark – reinforced steel, no windows, the works. However, getting them there was an entirely different problem.

His firsthand experience ended up settling the finer details. Suggesting that they lure them into the showers by scent. That was how he'd located Raven in the first place. How he'd known when to make his move, when to take that running leap over the fence. When to sprint. When to crouch. It made sense that Marcus and Abby would approach things the same way.

It was also his idea to take Clarke and Bellamy completely out of the picture. To put the clothes they'd worn for the last couple of days – thick with their scent – and leave them in the room. Making sure the clothing was the strongest scent in the camp and blocking the rest so that Abby and Marcus would immediately move towards it – a centralized target they would be drawn to just like he had. In essence, using the virus against them and coming up with a trap of their own in the process.

What he _hadn't_ been counting on was Marcus and Abby making them wait.

* * *

He was woken up from a dead sleep a few days later – the second in his own bed since Jackson had cleared him to leave the infirmary – to a string of garbled yelling and cursing.

He nearly rolled right off the bed, balance still slightly off as he wobbled to his feet and yanked on pants. Managing to get a word in edgewise as he nearly clipped his headset with his sweater. Striding through the door while trying to sort out his sleeves as every alarm they had blared over the loud speakers.

_They were coming._

* * *

He met up with Raven and Clarke in the hall. Rubbing sleep from their eyes, clearly not quite awake. Anxious stress sheened through the hollows below their eyes as he herded them towards the conference room. Exchanging nods and knowing looks as Indra, Lincoln, Bellamy and Octavia met them by the door.

The hush that descended when the doors hissed open and he made his way over to the desk was defending. Making him hyper-aware of himself as he keyed up the program and directed cameras to the western quadrant – the same section Monty and Jasper were pointing to on either side of his chair.

It made him made him wonder what it'd been like when _he'd_ been spotted.

Had Abby been where Raven was now?

Hovering over his shoulder with quiet trepidation?

Part of him felt ghoulishly curious about it. Wanting to ask. _Wanting to know_. Wanting to understand that small chunk of time and space he was missing. Where he hadn't been the one watching for once. But rather, the one being watched. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Forcing the thoughts away and burying them deep as a blurred flash rippled through the trees in the corner of the screen.

_Was that-_

In a sense, it felt like he was coming weirdly full circle.

"That's them," Jasper pointed, shaking the back of his chair with nervous excitement.

He zoomed in, slowing the footage and enhancing so that they could see them clearly. Heart pounding unevenly in his chest as he marvelled on the reversal. Remembering exactly how it'd felt when he'd streaked through the forest towards Arkadia. Elemental. Basic. Clean. Powerful. Taking ownership of each and every step, senses honed and sharp as he tasted the tart of his prey in the air.

Marcus and Abby were running together, side by side and completely in sync.

Animal.

Wild.

_Free._

' _A_ _mated pair,'_ a small voice in his head whispered. _Alphas._

He could feel Clarke at his back, leaning in when he brought the video clip closer. Trying to get a closer look as his fingers flew over the keyboard. He managed to get close enough to tell individual details despite the grainy surveillance footage. Close enough to see that Abby had lost her jacket. Her long sleeved shirt blood stained and flowing loosely in the breeze. Hair down and streaming behind her like a banner as they darted between trees. Marcus, on the other hand, was bare chested, having apparently lost what was left with his shirt somewhere between then and now. Skin muddied with dirt and dried red as he sailed over a rotting trunk and allowed himself to slow – if only a fraction – staying side by side. Fingers reaching out to brush every so often as they flowed over the forest floor and became one with its rhythm.

It was a familiar pulse.

_Harmonious._

_Dissonant._

_The worst kind of perfection._

Something he could still feel – _sense_ – on the very reaches of his conscious mind.

Something he could almost-

His eyes were drawn back to them. Too invested to feel guilty as they invaded their privacy with worried expressions. There was something new there. Playful and intimate as they bared their teeth at the wind. Expressions transported, smoothed and feral-calm. Like they knew each other. _Really knew_. And there was nothing standing in the way of that feeling anymore.

Because the best and worst part of this whole mess was that the virus didn't create false feelings. It honed what was already there. It made all the reasons why you weren't - _why you couldn't_ \- weak and without substance. Hurdles that only hours before had seemed impossible were now easy and effortless to jump over.

"Whoa," Raven commented, leaning in to watch as Marcus reached pulled ahead. Putting on speed as they neared a gully bottom. It was something that normally would have taken around five minutes to navigate around but Marcus didn't even blink. Lunging across the entirety as his bare heels slammed into the embankment. Toes curling into the dirt like an anchor as the man wrapped his arm around a branch and caught Abby's hand as she followed him over. Using his strength and her momentum to fling her forward. Sailing off into the green as she tucked, rolled and was back in her feet running with barely a hitch in the rhythm.

"Impressive," he murmured, zooming back out as he watched the second monitor that showed their location. Twin red dots closing in on Arkadia as they watched.

"Yeah, well, it was certainly a crowd pleaser when you jumped the fence like a boss," Jasper replied, still looking at the screen unblinkingly. Nonchalantly popping a piece of fruit in his mouth as Monty gave him an apologetic look from his other side.

"Yes, about that, he started, narrowing his eyes. Remembering the awe on his trainee's face and the whispers about the leaked footage as he glared up at Jasper with a building frown.

"Later boys," Raven piped up, turning around to look at Bellamy and Clarke as they hovered near the door, ready to head to the clean room that would hide their scent and funnel Marcus and Abby right where they wanted them. "Everything ready?"

The affirmative was echoed across the room.

"I just double checked the intake value in the shower vents. We're all set," Jackson told them.

"Alright get into position. They're close," Clarke spoke into the radio. Alerting the guard units stationed around to wall to be strategically elsewhere. Making sure Marcus and Abby had a direct path to the showers and that no one else would-

"Wait, they shifted course!" Bellamy exclaimed, pointing to the screen as the twin red dots suddenly streaked right. Crossing over onto the path of two smaller blue dots that-

"Shit shit shit!" Jasper chanted, loud in his ear as he ignored him and reached for the radio. Hissing static across the line as Bellamy and Clarke hovered above him. The three of them watching as the red dots ate up the distance between them and the guard patrol that was still on a routine perimeter check.

"Control room to Guard team six, return to base immediately," he ordered. "Do you copy? Guard team six, return to-"

The garbled scream of the guards coincided with their sudden disappearance. Switching to the live feed against as the computer slowed the last few seconds. Watching Marcus and Abby take both men down into the long grass. Disappearing from sight completely before popping up again. Ranging back toward the direction of Arkadia as his heart throttled itself in his chest. Expelling air with a relieved sound.

"They didn't kill them, they bit them. It was too quick," he assured, trying to zoom into the wavering grass where the two guards had disappeared. Internally cursing himself as he turned in his chair and found Indra's eyes in the jumble of people. "They're going to turn."

Indra nodded at Lincoln and one of her guards. Handing Octavia a fresh string of darts loaded with the cure as she passed.

"We will take care of them," Indra answered, expression tense but kind as she motioned for Octavia to stay behind. "We know what must be done."

"If you get there quickly you'll be able to administer the cure before the change is complete. They'll be weak," he told her, feeling the need to say it even though the woman already knew. Remembering how his body had burned, sending him squirming into the earth as he sunk his aching hands in to the soil and ripped a den into the sod. Trying to drown the sound of his body screaming as the hours passed and the virus spread like tendrils through every inch of him.

Indra merely nodded. Hand resting on the hilt of her blade as Lincoln and one of her guards followed her out.

"They'll be fine," Bellamy replied to the silence.

Clarke just stared at the red dots coming closer and closer, thin-lipped and pale.

* * *

"Sinclair!"

By the time the doors to the communal showers hushed closed and Marcus and Abby turned in a circle - eyes pupil-wide and fierce as realization trickled in - the cure was already pumping through the vents and into the room. Tasteless. Odorless. Silent.

"Open the door! Now!"

He wasn't sure why. If they sensed him watching, or if they simply knew he would be, but a heat-flushed shiver rippled through him all the same when Abby and Marcus called out for him. Crowding against the corner closest to the surveillance camera, baring their fangs. Almost overwhelming the lens as his hands curled into brutal fists above the keyboard.

"Sinclair! You know- you were one of us…you know this is better. _Right._ We came back for you."

He watched Marcus hunch over, pulling at his throat as a rattling cough lisped frothing-red from his lips. Feeling like he was right there with him. Remembering the rushing sense of _wrongwrongwrong_ as the cure leached into his bloodstream. Stealing away all that strength and surety. Changing him back into the creature of weakness and indecision he'd been before all this. Before the virus had taught him – shown him – that there was another way.

_A better way._

"Don't do this!"

The gentle weight of Raven's hand firmed into the curl of his shoulder. Squeezing gently as the others shifted restlessly behind him. He stole her strength greedily. Clearing his throat and keying his radio on so that Marcus and Abby would be able to hear him through the coms. Knowing that he needed to hear himself say it probably just as much as they did.

"Yes, I did. _I was._ But what you are – what I was – isn't what we need or who we are. We are enough. _I am enough_. Let us help you. I promise that everything will make sense when you wake up….you'll remember why we're doing this. Why it has to be this way."

His words were thick in his throat as he watched Abby slide down the wall, hissing her defiance. Reaching vainly for Marcus as the man started vomiting. Painting the floor crimson until his fractured roar of anger petered off. Shaking violently as the horrible sound of retching overwhelmed the occasional burst of static.

"It'll be over soon, I promise," he whispered. Unable to shake the feeling that somehow - despite the truth behind it - it was just another lie.


	8. Chapter 8

She woke up with a mouth that screamed like a wolf. Letting go of a panicked, fractured sound that quickly turned into a low gradient moan of pain as her head thumped back into the pillows. Every muscle and bone on her body throbbing as the low lights of the infirmary hazed diffidently in the background.

_Home._

_She was home._

_Marcus!_

She let gravity take her head to the right, seeing nothing but machines, wires and Raven, Clarke, Bellamy and Jackson slumped against her desk with their heads pillowed in their arms – sleeping. But it wasn't until she looked left and saw him laid out on the bed beside her, chest rising and falling with comfortable surety, that the tightness in her chest finally allowed her to breathe.

She basked in the rightness of it as the rest of her memories slowly trickled back. Filtering through the fog of confusion and pain as she reached out to Marcus with weak fingers. Knowing they were close enough to touch but not quite able to-

"Hey," a low voice murmured, easing himself out of the shadows as Sinclair took shape above her. He moved slowly, making sure she could see the gesture coming as he gathered up the hand that was meant for Marcus in his own. Cupping it with gentle pressure as the warmth of his hand made her shiver inside her own skin. It took more effort than she figured it should have to squeeze back. "You're awake. Good."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Suddenly remembering what they'd said to him over the coms when they'd been trapped in the showers. Remembering what they'd _wanted_ to do. What they'd promised each other they would share. How they would turn him together and bring Raven to him in the moments after, unbitten and plush with life to make up for-

He pressed a finger to his lips, shaking his head. Eyes hollow-punched tired and painfully understanding as he stopped any attempt at words with the gesture alone.

"I know, believe me- Abby, _I know_. But everything that happened? It doesn't matter. It never did. The next few days are going to be hard. Things are _still_ hard. You're going feel like you've lost something, something bigger. It gets jumbled up in your head, but I was telling the truth. What the virus is? We don't need it. The problems we face? The things we hide from and tell ourselves we can't have? We get there on our own…eventually," he murmured softly, something in his voice easing her back into the pillows in inches. Relaxing back to the welcoming haze of sleep as her lids slung low and swollen.

To her left, Marcus breathed.

To her right, her daughter did the same.

"Is everyone-" she tried, needing to know as her gums ached bloody murder. Tongue flicking up to the roof of her mouth as she remembered the way Sinclair's fangs had pushed themselves out of his gum-line. Sharp and pearl-sheened dangerous against the dull stainless steel suture tin. It wasn't until her tongue probed at the holes where her fangs had once been that the reality of everything else slowly started to settle in.

"They're fine. Clarke is fine. Marcus is fine. The guards are fine. _You're fine_ ," he told her, smiling small and turning a bit so that the others were clearly visible again. Eyes kind despite the exhaustion lining them. "Everyone is alright, it's you two we were worried about for a while."

A flash of two faces, pale and yelling with lips stretched wide by fear scuttled across her mind's eye. Remembering the sweetness of their blood pooling in her mouth as Marcus crouched beside her. Passing on the virus before dropping them into the sweet grass to complete the change. She could still remember the way the tall one under her hands had grabbed at her - panicking. Only she'd been above it all, confident that this was a gift they were passing on. Knowing that in a couple of hours they would join them in Arkadia – reborn and hungry.

"I hope we didn't…" she trailed off, searching in vain for the right term. Something that would cover the physical, emotional and mental aspects of what they done. What had happened to them. The damage to friendships and personal ties. Loyalties and the uncertainty of what came next. "…break anything."

Her voice was hoarse, raspy and wrecked like she'd spent the last five hours screaming.

"Nothing that can't be fixed," Sinclair told her gently, in that way he had. Introverted surety that'd only been strengthened under the virus, still as convincing as ever as she met his eyes and nodded gratefully. "Rest Abby, we'll be here when you wake up."

She sighed, tired but content as he untangled his hand from hers and laid it carefully by her side. Seeming to take a step back and fade into the half-dark of the infirmary as the gentle _beep-beep_ of her heart monitor hushed through the humid air.

She turned back toward Marcus' bed. Taking in his profile as his hair curled dark against the pillows. But it was his hand that really caught her attention. Because somewhere between her first glance and her conversation with Sinclair, his hand had squirmed its way into open air. Making her smile softly when his fingers twitched.

Like even now he was waiting on her.

Wanting her.

_Needing her._

Like in spite of everything that had happened, nothing had really changed at all.

She smiled into the moment, ignoring the aches and pains in favor of drinking it in.

Sinclair was right.

_They were both back where they belonged._

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:  
> \- “Dwale” is a rare word meaning: “to wander around deliriously.”  
> \- “Jus Takers” – “Blood takers,” in Trigedasleng.  
> \- “Think about em” – “Think about it” in Trigedasleng.


End file.
